


Then I heard your heart beating (you were in the darkness too)

by cosmosclouds



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Supermarket meetings, dumb fluff, dumb idiots, its not really turning out that way, killian is such a fucking nerd oh my god, this was supposed to be an angsty story, with possibly future angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:38:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5401553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmosclouds/pseuds/cosmosclouds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan, Killian Jones. Two strangers find something odd in the vegetable aisle. (Could it be hope? Maybe not. But it might be something like it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma had a headache she was trying to ignore as she looked down fondly at her son, Henry. He was huddled in the cart next to a box of Swiss Miss hot chocolate mix, with his tiny sneaker clad feet tucked loosely beneath an overturned Cap’n Crunch box. The white and gray checkered linoleum floor of the supermarket made odd sucking sounds whenever she took a step, the artificial lights brought an unhealthy pallor to her skin, and an almost greenish tinge to her blonde hair. She slowly brought the cart to a stop. “Hey, kid,” She whispered conspiringly, smiling and lightly jerking the cart backward when Henry failed to acknowledge her. On her phone’s screen, birds were squawking as they were flung fruitlessly into the air by a gigantic slingshot controlled by a directionally challenged four and a half year old. Well, considering his age, maybe not so directionally challenged. Henry looked up at her, all dimples in chubby cheeks and a flop of brown hair over his forehead.

“What?” He whispered back, just as quietly. Silently, she held up a used DVD of Snow White, the plastic cover littered with scratches and a bit slippery under her fingertips. She watched in amusement as his eyes lit up and he immediately held out his hands for it, chubby fingers quivering with excitement. She passed it to him, and he brought it up to his face feverishly, before turning wide, mournful eyes up at her. “Can we keep it?” He asked plaintively, snuggling it close to his chest. Even if she hadn’t already been planning on giving it to him, Emma’s resolve likely would have wavered. Damn puppy eyes.

She grinned. “Yeah, throw it in there. Alright, so, we’ve gotten the hot chocolate, the cereal, and Snow White. Did we need anything else, or are we good?” Henry looked thoughtfully at the items around him.

“Good.” He said finally, before casting her a sly look.

“You punk,” Emma laughed, beginning to roll the cart towards the vegetable aisle. “Okay, what menu are we looking at, here? We got red bells last time, do you want to switch it up? What about cucumber?” As Henry took to his task of Chief of Vegetable Selection with a brooding look and a pouted lip, Emma quietly mused on the fact that, even if Henry would only eat one vegetable in the apartment at a time, at least on visits to Mary Margaret’s place he ate disguised vegetables on a pretty regular basis.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet, “Mommy, look.” Emma didn’t fully understand why she was supposed to look, but _jesus_ , after a second to process what she was seeing, she was glad she had. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a black leather jacket, with tousled black hair and a neatly trimmed layer of dark stubble, was apparently having a bit of trouble with the bag dispenser hanging above a row of lettuce heads.

Her mouth opened without her permission, and she was struck dumb by the simple “Hey,” that had fled the safe recesses of her mouth before she’d had the chance to make even a semblance of a plan. It was just as well she hadn’t, she realized a dizzying moment later, when bright blue eyes met her own, thick black eyebrows furrowed in frustration and confusion, because it was very unlikely she’d be able to act on it. Her mouth went dry, her eyes went wide, and her heartbeat picked up speed. The man quirked an eyebrow, his lips beginning to curl into a lopsided smirk.

“Hey.” He echoed back, looking at her expectantly, almost flirtatiously. Because she had started this conversation. With no plan. Goddamnit. A treacherous part of her mind latched a little pathetically onto the fact that he had a really nice voice. British, maybe?

“Um, do you-? I mean, do you need any help?” Instantly, his expression became shuttered off and stony, his shoulders stiffening. Emma nearly took a step back. “Or not,” she muttered “I’m not going to try to force anything on you.” Emma shifted warily, getting ready to exit the conversation. She looked down to take a momentary assessment of Henry, only to find that he was watching the man, rapt, his eyes focused on a spot nearly beyond Emma’s vision… “Oh.” She said dumbly, when she caught sight of the shining metal hook in place of the man’s left hand.

“Yes, ‘ _oh._ ’” The man said flatly. “It’s alright, love,” he said, with a biting smile, the endearment sounding bitter, “I think I’m quite whole enough to manage a task as simple as this.” His words were so flat with finality that any reassurances Emma may have felt tempted to offer died on her tongue, leaving a stale, unfinished taste. Almost viciously, the man speared the (his?) hook through the top of plastic bag he was attempting to separate from the roll. He proceeded with the rather violent, unproductive procedure, and came away with the bag half mangled. He peeled it off of his hook with a frown and a sigh. His eyes sharply cut back to hers when his cheeks flushed red, before he stiffly turned away, looking ready to leave without a second glance at the vegetables he’d been perusing.

“Wait, would you just-“ Emma huffed, striding away from the cart to deftly rip a plastic bag away from its roll, and holding it out as far from her as possible, just in case her proximity would actually put him off taking it. He looked confused again, his jaw working as his hand twitched at his side.

“I don’t need any charity, love.” He said quietly, averting his gaze and taking a step back.

Emma sighed in exasperation, just barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “It’s not _charity_ , or even about your disability,” she paused, considering her words carefully. After a moment, she continued, slowly. “I would have wanted someone to help me when I needed it. You looked like you were having a tough time, and there was something I could do to make it easier, okay?” She fidgeted uncomfortably, this was getting a bit deeper than she was comfortable with; emotional talks with strangers in supermarkets wasn’t really her usual MO. “Just… take the bag, please.” She wiggled it in what she hoped was a tempting manner, like a matador trying to engage an unusually reluctant bull.

Managing a tight smile, the man paused only briefly before reaching an uncertain hand to quickly grab the far edge of the bag, (Emma would have been smugger about calling the whole proximity thing if she wasn’t feeling the sting of mild offense) and tug it out of her loose grasp. “Thanks.” He said gently, sincerely, before turning on his heel and striding away. She stared at his retreating back and felt an innate sense of wrongness. There was something… she had the unsettling feeling that there was supposed to be more than a random run-in at a supermarket. They weren't finished.

“Emma!” She called out, before she could stop herself. He slowed, looking over his shoulder at her with a genuine grin and a raised eyebrow. “Emma Swan.” She finished lamely, quietly, her whole face burning something fierce. God, was she an idiot? Who shouts their name after a fleeing party of a failed interaction, even if they had been having weird wax philosophical thoughts about said fleeing party? He wasn’t saying anything. Fuck. “Okay.” She said after a brief pause. “Bye.” She felt her cheeks get even hotter, and his smile widened and shone. Shaking his head and looking away, he turned the corner, the edge of a shelf cutting of her view of him. Instantly, she put both hands to her face and trudged to the cart.

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked. Sweet, sweet Henry, who she would hopefully raise well enough that he would never in his very, _very_ long life stumble into this kind of situation.

“Mommy embarrassed herself.” Emma mumbled from behind her hands. “She was ridiculous. It was awful.” A small hand consolingly patted her forearm, the closest thing Henry could reach.

“Let’s go home,” he suggested casually, “we can have hot chocolate.”

“With whipped cream, and cinnamon?” She asked hopefully, lifting her face from her hands to look into the earnest face of her son. His expression was one meant to truly inspire self-reflection, hopeful that she would realize what a stupid question that was before he had to point it out himself. “Yeah, yeah.” She muttered, and ruffled his hair even as he clumsily slapped her hand away. She hoped that one day, far in the future, she would be able to forget this incident entirely. One day. Far in the future. She wasn’t feeling too optimistic about it.

“Killian!” A newly familiar voice called out, a few rows over. “Killian Jones.” She hoped she wasn't projecting, but he sounded like he was smiling. Emma, even if she’d been caught on tape, would never _ever_ admit to the slightly silly grin that made its way onto her face before she had even realized it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Killian is an idiot and has no clue at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, let me say I'm SO SORRY that this took this long. If you haven't yet been made aware of my tendency to procrastinate and overbook my schedule, please consider this a PSA. Secondly, thank you so much everyone who left kudos and comments!!! You guys are the ones who really kept this story alive, and there are no words for how much I appreciate your support. I really hope this chapter is at least kind of worth waiting for, and hopefully the next one will come along a bit sooner! Enjoy!

What the _bloody hell_ had just happened? Killian stared blankly at the cans of soup in front of him and tried desperately to rein in the urge to ram his head against them. Instead he scrubbed his hand over his face roughly, thinking back over the events of the past few minutes.

It had started with a little bit of difficulty with a ridiculously flimsy plastic bag that had been… uncooperative, to say the least. In those few struggling moments, where he was fighting a losing battle with a damned piece of plastic, who would come to witness his shame? Of course, one of the most _intriguing_ (and beautiful, if he’s being honest with himself) women he would likely have the good fortune to meet. (His luck was consistent, at least.) Before he’d quite realized what he was doing, for a moment, a split _second_ , he had forgotten he was done with women for the time being, and, well… he’d ended up… flirting. A bit. But who could blame him? Caught off guard by a lass like that… well, he was only human.

Then, of course, she had asked if he had needed help, and reality had come slamming into him like a tidal wave. He was a cripple, and she was taking pity on him. Bloody typical. That was his life now, pity filled smiles and parents whispering furiously at their children to ‘stop _staring_ at the poor man, for gods sakes’. But sometimes, irritatingly, he forgot. Being reminded was never easy, for anyone involved in the ordeal. So, in a completely idiotic move fueled more by irritation than intelligence, he had tried something he’d already known would be a complete failure. Spearing the bag and trying to drag it off. Genius.

At that point, something a bit amazing had happened. The woman, ‘ _Emma! Emma Swan._ ’ he knew now, had stepped forward and given a rather rousing speech about how she ‘didn’t see him as disabled’ and that she ‘just wanted to help’. It was something he’d heard often enough since he’d come home. From old friends, from co-workers, even from strangers on the sidewalk, when some unfortunate sod offered to walk him across the street. (At times like that, he wondered what they were really trying to accomplish, by helping a man with a missing hand across the street.) But oddly enough, for practically the first time since he had gotten back, he believed it. It was likely the way that Emma’s eyes had widened after she mentioned that she had once needed help, looking caught, before her gaze unconsciously flickered to the young boy in the cart. She was maybe, what? Twenty two? And the boy seemed around four. If she didn’t have anyone to support her at that age, with a baby on the way… Her words suddenly became that much heavier, that much more believable. That moment of vulnerability, the moment of understanding between two heavy souls, was what allowed him to swallow his pride, the prickly, ragged thing that it was, and let her help him. All in front of the lettuce heads. God, he really needed to stop waxing poetic.

He stared at the can of tomato bisque, fiddling with his earring. The most curious part came just after, when he was walking away. She had called out her name, almost desperately. If her face already wasn’t conductive to a successful thought process, imagine the mental devastation it caused while flushed pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jesus. It took him actually turning his back and walking away before his mental faculties could reboot themselves enough to let him shout his name in return. It had needed to shove its way through his lingering smile, pushing past the clumsy thing still settling strangely on his mouth.

It wasn’t a particularly uplifting exercise to try and remember the last time he had _actually_ smiled before this. Not just something pasted on to appease the concern of friends and over-invested colleagues. And now, here he was. Staring in slowly dawning horror at a can of soup. _Why_? _Why_ in _hell_ would he shout his name to a woman in a store he’d met not ten minutes ago? What use would she have for it? Googling him? God knew what that would turn up. He looked down mournfully at the plastic bag still clutched in his hand. Empty, of course. After all that trouble, he hadn’t had even the presence of mind to grab some lettuce before fleeing.

Eventually, after ducking through aisles and peeking around corners, praying to god that Emma wouldn’t be around the next one, (because he had not prepared anything to say and would rather avoid looking like more of an idiot than he had already proved himself to be) he warily made his way back, and hastily stuffed the unruly vegetation into his bag before turning on his heel and heading to the registers.

On the way back to his flat, the sky grim and gray, the air sharp, he felt his phone buzz in his front jacket pocket. After an awkward shuffling moment, he saw that it was a text from David.

**U doing anything tonight?**

Killian felt his lips quirk, and briefly spared a thought as to how it was funny that one real smile often opened the floodgates for the ones that had been so previously evasive. David answered after two rings. “Hey,” he said, sounding amused.

“You know, you really can’t keep just expecting me to be free every time you’re desperate. I do have a life outside of your booty calls.” Killian heard him choke on the other end of the line, before bursting into laughter.

“No? But we were so _good_ together. C’mon, can you really turn down all _this_?”

“You know this is a phone call, I can’t actually see you gesturing at yourself.” Killian said, his tone more fondly exasperated than he preferred.

“You still knew I was doing it.” David said smugly. “Really, what are you doing tonight? Mary Margaret is having some meet up with some of her ex-con friends, and _I_ have been left abandoned.”

Killian rolled his eyes. “Served you right, most likely. Didn’t you act a bit weird around one of them?”

“Okay, first of all, she was arrested on multiple counts of conspiracy to commit murder, if not murder itself, and she does _not_ like me. You also haven’t met her. She’s just–” Killian could almost hear David’s grimace, “She’s scary.”

Killian chuckled. “I bet she’d kick your arse if given the chance.” David made an affronted noise.

“I do know self-defense, in case you forgot.”

Killian laughed, actually laughed, and the novelty caught him off guard just enough that his reply was just nearly on the edge of stilted. “Not nearly enough. I’ll meet you at Granny’s in an hour, if you’d like?” After a few more seconds of teasing chatter, Killian hung up, increasing his pace just slightly.

Turning his key in the lock, Killian stepped into his cold, dark apartment. He set his bag of groceries on the floor and flicked on the light, casting everything in a harsh blue light, deep shadows hiding beneath his sparse furniture. “Bloody freezing in here,” Killian muttered, clenching his fist when he mindlessly reached to rub his hand against its missing twin. There was never such an unpleasant shock as expecting to run into familiar flesh and instead feeling a cold curved bit of metal. Jarring, at best. At worst… well, it didn’t bear thinking about, at the moment. His eyes flickered unconsciously to his bedroom door, cracked open, seeping darkness. With an abrupt shake of his head, he dropped his keys on the graying faux-tile of his kitchen counter. He grabbed his groceries and began putting them away.

Putting away groceries, a perfectly mundane, ordinary task to balance out his less than ordinary morning. But, try as he might to focus on putting his can of peas on its correct shelf, his thoughts wandered. Long blonde hair, guarded green eyes, a helping hand where there wasn’t one before... His eyes repeatedly glazed, his thoughts wandered, and he ended up nudging a can with his elbow just enough to send it rolling out of the cupboard and onto the counter with a bang. He startled, then stared at it for a moment, as it waited for him to pick it up and continue overanalyzing a three minute encounter in the supermarket.

Or…

Killian walked over to his desk, sat heavily in his seat, and fired up his laptop. He was utter shit with technology, and this would probably end without even a trace of a Facebook profile. Yet, he was still doing this, wasn’t he? The answer struck him without hesitation: yes, he definitely was.

Into the google search bar, he entered two words that had already begun to change his life, though he was still quite unaware of it.

 _Emma Swan_.

 

Granny’s was a homey diner, with a small town feel that contrasted sharply with the rushing city that lay outside its pale blue doors. It was often filled with quiet, easy chatter, laughter sometimes ringing out above the general murmur and clattering of dishware. Walking in, Killian was immediately assailed with the comforting smells of salt and vegetable oil, of burgers and something sweet being baked out of sight. David was easily spotted, sitting in his preferred corner booth with two orders of burgers and fries on the table. Killian slid into the booth quickly, careful to keep his hook up and away from the seats. (In the corner of this same booth there is a small shameful tear, from the days when Killian was still getting the hang of sliding into booths one handed. Granny never looked at him the same after she found it.) “Sorry to have kept you waiting.” Killian said sheepishly. David was looking at him speculatively, and Killian shifted guiltily in his seat. It was often said by all who knew him that David could basically smell, if not fear, anything you didn’t want found out.

“You find something to keep you busy?” David finally asked, after a long silence. Killian looked up at him, eyes wide and just on the wrong side of guilty.

“…No,” Killian spluttered, after an unfortunately telling pause that he cursed himself over while trying to appear busy squirting ketchup over his fries. “Nothing, no. Just… you know, lost track of time.” He hastily stuffed a fry into his mouth to try and stall the utter train wreck of an excuse he was making.

“Uh huh.” David said, sounding so completely unconvinced that Killian almost winced. David leaned forward on his elbows, pushing aside his meal with a casual disinterest that did not bode well for Killian, or anything he had been attempting to hide. “Who is she?” He asked this calmly, quietly, as if he were talking to a spooked horse.

“What? No one!” Killian said hotly, biting viciously into another french fry. He only realized his mistake when a bright smile lit up David’s face, making the man look less like he was nearing twenty five and more like he was _actually five_. Killian cursed softly, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to run his currently greasy, salted, fingers through his hair. When he opened his eyes again, David’s expression had only changed in that he, if it was even possible, looked even more excited than before. Killian pointed a stern finger at him. “No, definitely not, _no–“_

“What happened?” David asked, megawatt grin still firmly in place.

Killian sighed in a long suffering way that had been practiced to make the receiver feel as ridiculously childish as possible. Unfortunately, David had proven immune. “Listen, in all honesty, it was nothing, alright? I met a woman in a grocery store, I was a bit of a prick, and she didn’t mind.” Killian shrugged uncomfortably, “I was…” _charmed_ weighed heavily on his mind, a truth that was becoming quickly inescapable. “Anyways,” he said, awkwardly and incredibly obviously changing the subject, “my day was fine, thanks for asking. What about you?” David stares at him for a moment, grin fading, his eyes becoming quietly assessing.

“Alright,” David murmurs after a brief hesitation, looking intrigued. “Well, you wouldn’t believe what I saw at the station this morning, I swear to god…” As David launched into his story, complete with flailing hands and a fair usage of the word ‘like’, Killian couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that he knew quite a bit more than Killian wanted him to, and possibly, quite a bit more than Killian himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! This is my first captain swan fic, so I'm really just trying to get the ball rolling here. More plot/chapters to come! I don't really have an update schedule planned, so keep your eyes peeled if you would like to keep up to date! Hope to see you around!! :)


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